


This Melancholy London

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, London, Smut, post 3x08 reunion, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7003213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack comes after Phryne.</p><p>  <em>"This melancholy London - I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air." --William Butler Yeats</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	This Melancholy London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/gifts).



> This story came out of a prompt from gaslightgallows--she requested Jack/Phryne in a slow, emotionally intense love-making session, in some circumstance where they need to be quiet. I so hope I’ve done it justice!

Phryne sat beside the fire in her parents’ townhome in London, her legs pulled up beneath her. She found that she enjoyed this small library on the second floor—it was less grand than some of the ground-floor rooms, and it had a fireplace to drive away the December chill that her favorite black silk robe and nightgown couldn’t quite combat. She’d forgotten, in two years of Melbourne summers, what a London winter could be like. She pulled a soft green cashmere throw to cover her bare feet and took a sip at a glass of rather excellent whiskey. Whatever else her father was, he stocked his cellar well.

She sighed. It had been more than two months since she’d left Melbourne to fly her father—the ingrate—home, and she thought it was a safe bet that the people _there_ cared far more about where she was than the people _here_. She’d had letters almost every day from Dot, Mac, and Jane, and even one or two from Mr Butler and Aunt Prudence. What she hadn’t had was a letter from Jack.

Leaning her head against the deep wing of her chair, she pondered Jack Robinson. She’d thought they had an understanding. He’d kissed her—and the memory of that kiss washed over her, the flavor of his tongue, the press of his body against hers, the feel of his hand cupping her head as he took her mouth so commandingly… Phryne shivered, closing her eyes to relive that moment as she had so many times since she’d set out from that airfield.

When they’d arrived in England, she had watched and waited for him to come. Her father had taken no more than a week to coax her mother back into charity with him, and they’d taken off for two weeks at their newly regained estate to “find their feet again,” leaving Phryne in London to shift for herself.

While they were gone, Phryne had wandered around London during the daylight hours, visiting museums, shopping for herself—she’d had to minimize what she brought with her, given the size of the plane—and for her friends back home. She found that she saw Jack in every man in a long trench coat or fedora as she wandered among the art, and Dot in the young matrons at the fruit stand or yarn stalls of the market. She saw Jane in the girls who giggled in clusters on corners as they watched the young boys playing football in the park, and Bert and Cec in the working men who lounged about and smoked on their breaks.

She’d attended several parties while her parents were away, trying to regain the insouciance with which she’d conquered the London scene the last time she was here. She’d even taken someone home for the evening once or twice, but she found that she was happy to see them leave. They’d satisfied her body, but not her mind; though they’d filled out their suits as handsomely as Jack, they didn’t speak or smell or feel the same.

When her parents returned, the social whirl had become even more frantic—her mother had felt the need to host a supper or small gathering at least twice a week, in addition to the other parties they’d attended as a family. Phryne had continued to consider the occasional fling—usually tall, dark-haired men with strong jawlines and broad shoulders—but the complication of needing to go to theirs because her parents would be in the house made it feel like more work than it would be worth. As a result, she found herself more often than not at home alone after a party, her parents retired to their rooms.

Tonight, really all she wanted was to sit here, drinking whiskey and contemplating a certain detective inspector. Phryne sighed again. This melancholy was becoming irritating, even to her. Perhaps it was time to consider going back to Australia.

A soft knock at the library door brought her head around.

“I _am_ sorry, miss,” the butler, Davies (“just Davies, miss”), opened the door slightly to speak, his eyes on the portrait above the fireplace rather than on her less-than-fully-clothed figure. “But there’s a gentleman here to see you, and he is rather insistent that you’ll want to receive him.”

“Who is he, Davies?”

“He says his name is Robinson, miss, and—”

“Show him in, Davies, immediately!”

The butler bowed slightly and withdrew. Could it really be Jack? Phryne threw off the throw and took the last swallow of her drink before rising to stand before the fire. Smoothing her hair, she blessed the fact that she’d inserted her pessary before the evening’s party and hadn’t bothered to remove it when she came home. She shook her head at her own optimism—she hadn’t taken anyone to her bed for more than two weeks, but she always wanted to have the option. Smiling at herself, she realized that if it _was_ Jack at her door tonight, at least she was physically prepared to welcome him.

When the door to the library opened, she froze, her hands clasped in front of her. She watched the doorway, hoping so hard she thought her heart might break if it turned out that this was some other Mr Robinson.

“Hello, Miss Fisher,” she heard, and the tension bled from her body as he stepped into the firelit room from the darkness of the hallway. He wore a familiar gray suit under his battered trench coat, and the only indications that he wasn’t standing duty were the loosened knot of his tie and the undone button of his shirt collar. His eyes were the same deep, brooding blue, and he looked at her the way he always had—as if she was the only person in the world.

“Jack,” his name was a breath, a prayer, an invocation, before she found her balance again. “What took you so long?”

His smile was a twist of his lips, and he turned to close the door behind him. Turning to place his fedora—she hadn’t even noticed it—on the desk beside the door, he shrugged out of his trench coat and laid it across the back of one of the wing chairs.

“It has been an… eventful trip,” he said, his voice that familiar deep rumble. He moved toward her, coming closer and closer until he stood just a little closer than was proper, looking down into her eyes. Phryne found herself holding her breath; she was mesmerised by the movement of his body, by his smooth stride, and by the focus in his eyes.

“I can’t wait to hear the tale,” she whispered, her eyes saying something entirely different. _Don’t talk anymore_ , they said, _just kiss me._

“Later,” he murmured, one large hand reaching to wrap around her waist, the other rising to cup the back of her head, just as he had at the airfield so many months ago. When he lowered his mouth to hers it felt almost as if time stretched—it should not have taken so long for his lips to reach hers, but it seemed like an eternity.

“Jack,” her whisper gusted against his mouth in the moment before he covered her lips with his own. Phryne’s arms wound around his neck, pulling him close, her fingers spearing into his hair as she concentrated on the taste of this kiss. His lips were soft, his tongue sweet as it swept through her mouth, tasting her. She arched into him, wishing that all of his layers and her own would disappear. When he broke the kiss, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, she found herself panting.

“Phryne,” he breathed against her throat. “God, I’ve missed you…”

Phryne smiled, pressing kisses to his temple and holding him close. “I’ve been wishing for you, Jack.”

He raised his head, his sideways smile in place. “Have you? And what did you wish for?”

“I wished for your kisses,” she said, pressing her lips quickly to his, her tongue flicking out to taste him, “and for your hands on me.” She smiled as his hand on her waist slid down to squeeze her bottom. “For your arms wrapped around me, and for your scent.” She buried her head in his neck, inhaling him. “For your smile and your humor and your _presence_ , Jack. I wished for _you_.” Pressing herself to him as if she could not get close enough, she whispered the last bit into the crook of his neck, but he heard it.

“Phryne,” he murmured. She raised her head to meet his eyes, and her smile was bright though her eyes had a sheen of tears. “Phryne.” His smile grew and he kissed her again, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Her lips on his were sweet; he could feel the happiness building inside him until, with a joyous laugh, it burst out and he spun her around. She squealed in surprise, laughing and shushing him at the same time.

“Jack, my parents are just down the hall!” But her quiet voice was filled with humor, and she tightened her hold around his neck.

Meeting her eyes, he smiled. “Phryne,” he said again, and he kissed her again as he sank with her to the plush rug that was spread in front of the fire.

“I want you, Phryne Fisher,” he growled as he laid beside her in the warmth of the fire, and he knew that he meant for more than the touch of her hands.

“I want you too, Jack Robinson,” she responded, and she knew that she meant for more than the pleasure he’d bring her body. She propped herself up on one elbow to kiss him again, unable to get enough of the taste of his mouth and the press of his lips. They laid that way for long minutes, feasting on each other’s mouths, their hands roaming lightly over each other’s bodies.

Phryne slid her hands under Jack’s jacket, attempting to push it off of his shoulders, but unable to. Jack rose to his knees beside her to shrug out of his jacket, then went to work on the buttons of his waistcoat. Phryne watched him with greedy eyes, her anticipation rising as she watched the muscles in his arms and thighs bunch under his clothing. _Finally,_ she thought, _finally, I’ll have him. Jack Robinson._ His name echoed in her head, and she whispered it aloud, marveling at the way it made her feel now that he was here with her. He flashed her a smile, and all of her gloominess seemed to wash away, leaving her sparkling with eagerness and joy. He was here; he wanted her, and he had come after her.

She slid her hands down to the tie of her robe, pulling at one loose end and watching his eyes as he followed her motions.

“Is this what you came for, Jack Robinson?” Her voice was low, caressing his name as she spread open the sides of her robe, revealing the short satin nightgown beneath. Its vivid teal brought out the color of her eyes and turned her skin to porcelain.

“I came for you, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled in response, his hands never pausing as he shed his inspector layers. His waistcoat was gone now, and he’d shifted his braces over his shoulders to lie hanging behind him; he’d undone his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, and as he removed his cufflinks, she ran her eyes over him and her hands over herself.

“Did you? For which parts of me? These?” She cupped her breasts, her hardened nipples visible through the satin gown. “Or maybe this?” She trailed a hand upward to touch her lips, sliding her finger inside and withdrawing it, glistening with moisture. “Or possibly this?” And she slid her hand down her body to cup her fingers between her legs, one knee rising to make room and offering him a flash of the thatch of black hair that covered her mound—she didn’t wear knickers to sleep, and at that moment, she was fiercely glad of it.

“All of those,” he agreed as he pulled his singlet over his head, revealing broad, tanned shoulders and a chiseled chest and belly. He sat for a moment, removing his shoes and socks, then rose back up to his knees, proudly displaying himself for her.

“And for your smile and your laugh and your quick mind.” He popped the fastenings on his trousers slowly as he spoke, watching as her hand between her thighs began to move, that moistened finger going to work on her most intimate flesh. “To feel your hands on me and taste your kisses. To finally know what it’s like to have your body and to give you mine.”

Jack hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers and smalls and rose up just far enough to push them down over his ass, then he sat back on the rug, lifting one leg and then the other to shed them along with his loafers and socks. When he’d set his clothing aside, he moved back to his knees and straightened up, his hand wrapping around his erect penis. He heard Phryne’s swiftly indrawn breath as she saw him nude for the first time, and he smiled.

Phryne couldn’t take her eyes off of his magnificent cock, and she rolled to her knees to face him. She reached to grasp it, wrapping her fingers around its base—she was thrilled to see that they didn’t meet around his circumference—and stroking strongly upward. It was remarkably large, larger than she’d imagined it would be in her many fantasies about this man, long and wide and _beautiful_ , its skin flushed red and its head shining with moisture.

“I didn’t want just any woman, Miss Fisher,” he growled as she stroked him, “I wanted _you_ with your French perfume and your sensual clothing and your irrepressible, maddening charm.” He pushed her robe off of her shoulders. “And if I had to go halfway around the world to find it, well, that seemed worth the effort.” Curling his fingers under the bottom hem of her nightgown, he tugged it upward and over her head to bare her body to his gaze.

And then he just _looked_ at her for a moment. Phryne could feel his eyes devouring her pink-tipped breasts with their hardened nipples, her stomach with its gentle curve leading into slim hips, and the darker pink flesh of her sex. His eyes snagged on her hand—now two hands—stroking his cock, and she felt him get impossibly harder.

“I had no idea that you were so… gifted, Jack,” she purred, drawing a single finger down one of the veins that traced his length.

“It’s not always such a blessing,” he said softly, resting back on his haunches, his upper body tilting backward and his hips lifting slightly, offering himself up to her touch. “Some women are… less comfortable with a man of my size.”

“Their loss.” A sly smile tilted her lips, and before he could glean her intention, she had leaned forward, her tongue swirling around his head as her hands continued their massage. Jack sucked in a hard breath, his lungs filling audibly as she pulled him into her mouth. When she pressed down, taking as much of him as she could into the back of her throat, that breath left his body in a low groan of pleasure. One hand planting itself behind him on the rug, the other rising to tunnel into her hair, Jack watched as Phryne used her mouth and hands on him; he was caught in a moment of disbelief. Was this really happening, or was he only dreaming again? Would he wake momentarily, alone in his bed back in Melbourne, cock stiff with the remnants of his dream?

Phryne looked up his body, noting the faraway look in his eyes. She licked him, running the flat of her tongue from his base to his tip, then straightened to press herself against his body.

“Pay attention, Jack,” she said, bringing her mouth to his. He moaned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. His mouth devoured hers, his hands running over her body as if reassuring himself that she was really there. Phryne hooked her legs around his waist, pressing herself hard against him, loving the feel of his warm skin against hers.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he whispered between kisses. “You’re real, I’m really here.”

“Believe it, inspector,” she whispered back, pushing her fingers into his hair to hold his face close to hers as she rolled her hips against his, caressing that beautiful cock with the sensitive flesh between her legs.

“I thought you might have forgotten me.” His mouth against hers, he breathed the confession into her mouth. “It took so long for me to get here—I half expected that I’d show up and you would treat me with polite disdain.”

Phryne pulled him closer, taking his mouth again, her tongue delving inside to tangle with his. When she felt that her feelings for him had been amply demonstrated, she pulled back, just far enough to speak.

“Jack, I have been positively pining for you. Just before you arrived, I was contemplating how quickly I could return to Melbourne, because I didn’t want to spend any more time away from you.”

Jack’s smile was a slash of white. “You were?” Phryne nodded, her own smile wide and bright. “Then I’m so glad I made it before it was too late.”

“Oh, inspector,” she purred, “I would love to show you just how happy I am that you made it all in one piece.”

“Of course, Miss Fisher. I am at your disposal.” Leaning forward, he pressed her backward to the rug. As he slid his hands down her body, his wide palms spanned her entire torso, his thumbs meeting at her sternum and drawing a line down to her belly. As he passed her breasts, his hands spasmed to lightly squeeze before moving onward. When he reached her hips, he leaned forward to blow warm breaths against her sex; stretching out on his stomach, he pulled her knees up and over his shoulders to open her fully to his gaze.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his hands cupping her thighs and his eyes on the damp flesh between her legs. For a moment, he just looked at her. “Just beautiful,” he breathed, before leaning in to part her folds with his tongue.

Phryne felt as if she couldn’t move, the weight of his hands, even after they passed, seeming to pin her to the rug. _Jack’s hands_ , she thought. _Jack’s breath, Jack’s tongue._ Her back arched involuntarily when his mouth made contact with her sensitive flesh, and her hands flew to bury themselves in his hair.

He used his mouth on her for what felt like forever—that stretching of time again—and just as Phryne’s orgasm neared, she felt him press two fingers into her body. The long, thick digits reached deep inside her, and Jack pumped them in and out several times before he added a third. The stretching sensation shot through her, and Phryne gasped, her fingers in his hair clenching. Three fingers deep into her body, Jack used his tongue on her clitoris, suckling at her labia before batting at her clit with the hardened tip of his tongue. With a wail that she tried to muffle by clapping a hand over her mouth, Phryne broke, her orgasm rippling through her as he continued to pump his fingers within her.

When she opened her eyes again, her body lax in the aftermath of climax, Jack was above her, his mouth and chin wet and his smile devilish.

“You all right?”

In reply, Phryne slid a hand to the back of his neck and met his mouth in a kiss that tasted of herself and him, her tongue slipping alongside his as she tried to show him just how “all right” she was.

“More, Jack,” she whispered when they broke for air. Her hands slid down his chest to grasp his cock. She bent both knees to bring him closer and canted her hips so that she could bring his tip to her opening. “I want you inside me.”

His indrawn breath was harsh. “Oh god, I want to be inside you…” He kissed her again, pressing his hips to hers until his tip passed her entrance. She was tight and slick, and she made an ecstatic noise into his mouth as he slowly, stroke by stroke and inch by inch, pushed inside her.

Phryne slid both hands around his chest, wrapping up to grasp his shoulders from behind. She felt incredibly full—the hard length of Jack’s cock rocking farther and farther inside her body with each cautious thrust. She met him stroke for stroke. She understood his tempo, knew that he was doing his best to let her body accommodate the length and breadth of him, but she wanted all of him, and she wanted him _now_. So she pushed against him, lengthening each thrust until he was fully seated inside her body, where he stopped, panting.

“God, Phryne… You feel so good.” Jack kissed her again, his mouth almost frantic as he held himself still, allowing her body to adjust to the size of him. Phryne slid her hands down his back to cup his buttocks, kneading them with her fingers.

“ _More_ , Jack,” she breathed, and she tightened and released her stomach muscles to move him within her. Kissing him again, she felt the groan building in his chest. “Move, please, Jack… I need you…”

With a gasp, Jack levered himself up, planting one hand beside her hip on the plush fireplace rug. He slid the other up her inner thigh, holding her leg open as he began to move. His pace was slow to begin with—he had no intention of hurting her—but steady, and as he realized just how wet she was, he sped up. Phryne’s hands grasped him wherever she could reach, first his back, then his arms, then around to his chest, where he felt her fingernails scrape across his nipples as she dug them into his pectorals.

Dropping his head, Jack opened his mouth over one of her breasts, the rhythm of his hips never faltering as he captured her nipple between first his lips, then his teeth, then sucked it into his mouth to suckle strongly. Phryne began to keen, her back bowing with pleasure; the sounds of their flesh slapping together punctuated her cries. Sliding the hand on her thigh down to her clit, Jack manipulated that sensitive spot, his fingers pressing and pulling at the little bundle of nerves until he felt her body spasm with release.

Jack closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of her internal muscles squeezing him so strongly. He didn’t want to come yet, didn’t want this to be over, so he did his best to breathe through it, stroking her clit gently with the tips of his fingers and continuing to lick at her nipples. He buried himself completely inside her, waiting for her to recover before he began to thrust again.

Phryne’s breaths began to slow, and she stroked Jack’s back and hair, whispering her pleasure into the shell of his ear. He shuddered at the sensation of her breath, and she ran her tongue along the outer edge before pulling his lobe into her mouth.

“Jesus, Phryne, I’ll never last if you do that,” he growled, raising his head away from hers with a  smile.

“Who says I want you to last, Jack Robinson?” Her voice was a purr, and he could see her satisfaction—and a teasing glint—in her bright eyes.

Jack pulsed his hips against her, loving the way her eyes lost focus at the sensation.

“Ah, yes, you’re right. I definitely want you to last.”

With a grin, he kissed her, squeezing his buttocks to press and release against her, not withdrawing, just continuing to stroke her from the inside. He ran his hand up her stomach to fondle her breast, his large hand covering her completely before taking her nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Phryne felt her tension begin to rise again, and she wrapped her leg up around his waist and pushed, levering him to his back. His eyes flared with lust as she settled astride him, his cock still buried inside her body.

“God, Jack,” she said, throwing her head back as his hands reached up to cover her breasts and she began to move. “I can feel you so… deep…”

“Phryne…”

She planted her hands on his chest, her hips slowly rising and falling as she worked to feel every inch of him. Jack drew up his knees behind her, changing the angle of his pelvis slightly, and she moaned low in her throat.

“God, Phryne,” his voice was soft, and when she looked down at him again, his eyes were half-closed and focused on her face. “You feel so good.”

Phryne grinned at him, her eyes hot, and leaned back, wrapping her hands around his raised thighs as she continued to rise and fall atop him. With her body canted backward, Jack couldn’t reach her breasts, so his hands fell to her hips and he began a counter-rhythm to her thrusts.

“Oh god, Jack, yes…” Phryne’s breathless voice shot through him. How long had he wanted her this way? How many times had he dreamed of the two of them, joined together in flesh as they had been for so long in friendship?

Looking down his body at where his hard cock speared into her body, Jack groaned in pleasure. Her jet-black curls tangled with his warm brown, and the sight of his flesh disappearing into her was electric. She was stretched wide to accommodate his girth, but the tension in her body told him that the stretch felt good. The look on her face was half bliss, half agony—the best combination at a moment like this, as it meant that she was focused on bringing herself to orgasm.

Jack spread one hand to touch his thumb to her clitoris, which was slippery with her body’s juices. He pressed lightly, then rubbed, wanting her to come one more time so that he could feel her spasming from within. Phryne rolled her lips together to contain her cries of pleasure; her hips sped up until she was rocking wildly against him, his thumb on her clit flicking gently as she moved. With a high-pitched squeal that he could hear even through her closed mouth, she shattered for a third time, her back bowing and her thighs and stomach shaking.

The powerful squeezing of her climax wrapped around Jack’s cock, and he pushed down on her hips to seat himself completely within her one last time, his pulsing release making his own muscles shake with pleasure. Jack felt his lips pulling back from his clenching teeth as he tried to contain his own groans.

With a strangled sob, Phryne collapsed on top of him, her arms sliding around his shoulders and a hand pushing into the hair on the back of his head. Jack’s arms came around her, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the mingled scents of French perfume, sweat, and sex. With a jolt, he realized that her back was heaving and he could feel the warm wetness of tears on his shoulder.

“… Phryne?”

He felt her nod against his skin, and then she raised her head, one hand rising to dash the tears from her cheeks.

“What is it, darling? Did I hurt you?”

“Oh god, Jack, no! It’s just… I just… God, I hate to cry!” She leaned down to kiss him, hard, and he could taste the salt on her lips. Releasing his mouth, Phryne rested her forehead against his. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Jack,” she whispered, “and it was so much better than I’d ever dreamed it would be.”

Jack smiled and pressed his mouth to hers again, kissing her with everything in him. He felt a tear trickle down his cheek, and he was unsure, in that moment, whether it was hers or his own.

“I thought of little else, my entire journey here,” he whispered in return. “Though I would have been happy if you’d just been pleased to see me.”

“Pleased?” Phryne huffed out a laugh. “I think you could say that, and you could also say that summers in Melbourne are a trifle warm.” Jack chuckled, and she felt the vibrations of it travel from his chest to hers where she was pressed against him.

“Jack, can you…” Her eyes on his were suddenly vulnerable. “Do you think you could be with me, back home? I can’t promise you that I won’t ever want a night with someone else, but I can promise that I’ll come back to you, after.” She searched his eyes, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I thought about this on my journey as well,” Jack’s voice was calm and low, “on the chance that I’d have the option to be with you for the long term.”

“And what did you decide?” She felt her heart thudding in her chest, and it had nothing to do with their recent exertions.

“Phryne Fisher, I know who you are.” He raised a hand to smooth the hair back from her face, his eyes open and warm on hers. “I would never want to clip your wings. I’ll share you with whomever I need to.”

With a small cry, Phryne kissed him again, squeezing herself against his body as if she would crawl inside him. Jack kissed her back, his arms wrapping around her to hold her close as he savored her.

When they broke the kiss, Phryne spoke softly against his lips. “Stay with me?”

“I’d love to,” he murmured into her hair, feeling his chest ache from happiness.

“Then come with me to my bed, Jack Robinson,” she said, pushing up against his chest and gently disengaging their bodies. She hissed lightly as he slipped out of her, small, pleasurable shocks pulsing through her tender flesh at the movement. He sucked in his breath at the same moment, and they shared a look that said they wouldn’t be separated for long.

They gathered up their hastily flung clothing; glancing up and down the hall to make sure the coast was clear, they ran, naked and laughing softly, across the hall to Phryne’s room, which was lit only by the fire. When their clothing bundles were deposited neatly on the chaise in the corner, Jack slid under the covers of her bed. Phryne followed close behind and, pushing softly at Jack’s shoulders, spread herself over him as she had done before the fire in the other room. Jack smiled and gathered her close, wrapping his arms around her and reveling in their closeness.

Phryne wished that he was still hard so that she could go to sleep with his cock deep inside her body. At this point, that would have to wait for another time, but it was time that they had.

“Good night, Jack,” she whispered into his neck. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“As am I, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled softly, and she felt him press a kiss to her hair. “As am I.”


End file.
